“Extraordinarily annoying,” he says acidly.

“That doesn’t really seem to be in the spirit of our agreement, Ben,” I say sweetly. “And you were doing so well with the compliments.” I’m taunting him now and it’s fun, but the look on his face tells me it’s also possibly dangerous. I absolutely wouldn’t put it past him to throw me in the fountain out of some misplaced idea of vengeance. I edge away. “Well,” I say brightly, “this has all been very enlightening, but I think I’d better be off,” and I turn and stride away, ignoring the spluttered outrage that hangs in the air behind me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The days that follow are dreamy and intoxicating and extremely educational.

Ben throws himself into the experiment with great enthusiasm, and there have been enough stolen kisses to fill two notebooks with observations. We have not yet tackled the subject of moving beyond kisses, but I have to say my increased awareness of both his body and my own has been rather thrilling.

It’s late afternoon now and the light is heavy and golden. We’re in the garden and against my better judgement I’m allowing Ben to give love poetry another go.

“There’s no romance in your soul,” Ben grumbles as I press my lips together, trying and failing to stop the laughter from escaping.

“I think it’s your reading style, rather than the words,” I point out fairly. Ben is obviously relishing the role of romantic hero, and – as I feared – the overblown, high-drama, “raven-haired beauty” stuff only seems to make me laugh. “I enjoyed Filomena’s poetry at the bonfire the other night.”

Ben drops down to his knees in the grass in front of me. “Ah yes.” He smiles wolfishly. “Give me a hundred kisses…”

“A thousand,” I correct him.

“Honestly, Bea,” he murmurs, leaning in. “You’re insatiable.”

I am laughing as his lips meet mine.

There’s a sound nearby, a foot treading heavily on a twig and an elaborate clearing of the throat. By the time Filomena comes into view Ben and I have sprung apart, our clothes still slightly rumpled, the pink stain in our cheeks a dead giveaway.

From the smirk on Filomena’s face I can see that we’re not fooling anyone.

“There you are,” she says. “I’ve been trying to track you down.”

“Have you?” Ben asks, aiming for nonchalance.

Filomena nods. “I wondered how the painting lessons were coming along?” she looks rather pointedly around us where there is a noticeable absence of art materials.

“Painting, yes,” I say, still trying to get my brain back in gear.

“Bea is coming along quite well,” Ben jumps in. He gives me a look filled with mischief. “With a bit more practice I think she might do quite nicely.”